Thursday, March 29, 2012

Strange and Familiar

It
was familiar in that I met some aspect of my own work experience and career on
virtually every page.

It
was strange in that I realized how common my own experience is – or that it’s
common enough that Whyte could describe these experiences as common in
corporate America.

The
strangeness and the familiarity continue on the final chapter, “The Soul of the
World.” Whyte spoke to poetry, and the
role poetry plays in the corporate workplace.

“Poetry
is the art of overhearing ourselves say things from which it is impossible to
retreat,” he says. “A true line acts like a lightning rod in a storm. All our
doubts about the experience disappear in a flash as the accumulated change
contained in the electric ripeness of the moment runs to earth. Just before we are
struck, we may even feel, as in a true lightning storm, the hair rising on the
back of the neck, as we realize ‘it’ is being said.”

What
poetry can bridge is the separation of corporate life from “the soul of the world.”
Corporate self-preoccupation can often become so great that it separates people
from the realities of the world they live in. I might add that nowhere is this self-preoccupation
greater than at a corporate headquarters.

I’ve
seen poetry – or a kind of poetry – bridge the separation. I’ve described
here a speech I wrote for an executive, who used a speech not only to
bridge the company to the larger world but also his industry. Some two years
later, there was another speech by another executive, this time the CEO, that
did something similar, except it completed the process of moving the company
outside of itself and position it in the larger world beyond.

And
it happened by accident.

The
CEO had already created something of a stir with an initiative to reduce air
emissions at manufacturing plants – by 90 percent and in four years. But he was
looking for something more, something greater and larger, something that would
seize the attention of people inside and outside the company. A number of
proposals had been studied and brought forward – but the price tags for all of
them had created sticker shock (and there were the shareowners to consider).

At
some point, I was brought into the process, given copies of all the proposals,
and asked by the company’s senior environmental executive to see if there was a
“soft path” to getting at what the CEO wanted, defined as significant but
without the obvious costs attached to it. I was cautioned not to share what I
was doing with anyone, including my own boss.

I
wrote the speech. The conclusion was a summary of the speech using seven short
but rhetorically related statements. It was meant to be a rousing kind of conclusion, with repetition and rather emotional language. I didn't think of it as a new company policy. I gave the draft to the environmental
executive, and didn’t hear anything for several weeks.

And
then the word came back. The CEO would give the speech in Washington, D.C. I
was pressed back into service for editing and preparing additional documents
that would be needed. A few additional people were brought into the information
loop, but the speech was still being held very closely. (The concern was that,
if existence of the speech became known, various internal people and groups
would move to influence it in a “watering down” direction.) (Which turned out
to be a well-founded concern, except it happened after the speech was given.)

The
CEO gave the speech, and then all heck broke loose inside the company. Senior
business executives were upset that significant commitments had been made on their
behalf, with no opportunity for input. People responsible for regulatory
compliance believed they had been cut out of the loop (they had). The finance
people were concerned. Executives responsible for manufacturing were concerned.

Employees
loved it.

The
outpouring of support was amazing. The CEO was flooded with letters from
employees all over the world (this was pre-email). More than that, employees
began to do things. Native-plant prairies were established at three plant
locations. Initiatives were started in local communities.

Outside
the company, the reaction was profound. The head of a major environmental group
distributed copies of the speech to thousands of people and groups across the
U.S. Discussions at industry trade associations started, leading to new
programs. Competitors adopted similar efforts (and gave similar speeches).

Those
seven simple “rhetorical devices” became the company mission statement for the
next decade, when they replaced by another, similar set of principles announced
in – a speech. But that’s another story.

Poetry
– of a sort – bridged the separation between the corporate workplace and the
world described in The Heart Aroused. For a time, the soul of the company was entwined with the “soul of the
world.” David Whyte would smile.

We've been reading The Heart Aroused over at TweetSpeak Poetry. This week concludes our discussion of the book.

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About Me

Professional writer exploring faith and culture, life and work; happily married to Janet, the love of my life; father of two grown sons. Award-winning speechwriter and communication consultant. I am an editor for TweetSpeak Poetry and the author of the novels "Dancing Priest," "A Light Shining," and "Dancing King," and the non-fiction book "Poetry at Work."